


Better Than Fighting

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)



Series: Better Than Fighting [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Simon Snow's Wings and Tail, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 05:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: He backs me up to the edge of the bed, once we’re nearly starkers, but I grab him by the shoulders and spin us both around so I can push him down onto it. He laughs again, propping himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t crush his wings.I climb over him, knees bracketing his hips, still holding his shoulders. “Something funny, Snow?” I say with a smirk.“Just, I never knew watching me destroy a gang of goblins was such a turn on for you.” He grins and lifts his head to kiss me, but I draw mine back, out of his reach.“Everything you do is a turn on, you idiot.”Simon gave his magic to the Humdrum over a year ago--most of it, anyway. He's still a mage--he's even called upon by the Coven for his battle skills, on occasion--but not powerful enough to get rid of his wings and tail for good. Baz doesn't seem to mind, though...





	Better Than Fighting

**Author's Note:**

> I still can't stop thinking about the _Any Way The Wind Blows_ promo, especially the [version without text](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com/post/188129289482), just Simon <s>(and those jeans)</s> in all his glory. And I was like, _dang, he does have broad shoulders_, and then I wrote a smut, because reasons.
> 
> Thanks to [giishu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giishu) for the encouragement, and to the Circle of Tears, [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff) and [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast), for beta-reading and providing reassurance, despite my incessant anxiety about it the whole time. ❤️

“What’s got into you?” Simon asks with breathless laughter, as I urge him into his bedroom.

I pause from kissing him, briefly, to say, “_You_.” I sound desperate. I am desperate.

I shut the door behind us with my foot—I nearly lose my balance and have to do a rather inelegant hop to regain it—before we stumble towards the bed, frantically disrobing each other. I accidentally rip his t-shirt in the process of removing it; I forgot about his wings. (He put a short term spell on them to keep them invisible and compact until he got home, but usually he’d have had Bunce spell them right off for the day.) (She’s out of town for the weekend.)

He backs me up to the edge of the bed, once we’re nearly starkers, but I grab him by the shoulders and spin us both around so I can push him down onto it. He laughs again, propping himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t crush his wings.

I climb over him, knees bracketing his hips, still holding his shoulders. “Something funny, Snow?”

“Just, I never knew watching me destroy a gang of goblins was such a turn on for you.” He grins and lifts his head to kiss me, but I draw mine back, out of his reach.

“Everything you do is a turn on, you idiot.”

He grabs the back of my neck with one hand and pulls me in for another kiss. I lower myself onto his lap, eliciting a muffled groan. I can feel him through our boxers, so wanting, so ready, and my mind races with all the things I want him to do to me. And all the things I want to do to him.

“_Baz_,” he growls when I start grinding against him, teasing him. He lowers his arm back down to the mattress to hold himself up.

I push one hand up into his hair while the other slides down the back of his shoulder, until I bump his wing and he shudders. (It’s been a while since we’ve had to work with his wings present.)

“Sorry, love,” I say, pulling my head back to look at him. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just—I forgot,” he says. He almost looks embarrassed. “It’s—It feels good.”

“Do you want me to…?” I run my hand over his shoulder again, right above the spot where his wing connects to his back.

“Not yet,” he says, pushing his face towards mine. “Just keep going.”

I cup his face in my hands as I kiss him, eager to convey how much I want this. I resume grinding in his lap, and moan into his mouth, brazenly. I. Want. _This_.

“I want you,” I say, gasping a breath against his lips.

He hums in agreement and pushes himself up onto his hands so he can sit up taller; the spell on his wings is wearing off and they’re starting to unfurl.

“I want you, Simon,” I repeat. I tug a handful of his hair, tilting his head back so I can drag my (regular) teeth over the sensitive spot beneath his jaw. “I want you to fuck me.”

I hear his breath catch, so I nuzzle into his neck reassuringly, circling one arm over his shoulders as his wings open further.

“Do you want to?” I ask softly in his ear.

He brings a hand around to the small of my back, holding my hips down against him. “_Yeah_.”

I press my lips to his shoulder and hug him close. His hand slips down and cups my arse.

“How do you want to…” I say, letting my words trail off. “With your wings…”

(We’ve only ever tried this a couple of times so far. The first was an utter disaster—but the second time worked, when I was straddling him. His wings were spelled off, though.)

“On your back,” he says, almost breathlessly. Before I know it, he’s got both arms around me, lifting me off his lap and rolling me onto my back.

I laugh as I crawl backwards up the bed, while Simon leans over the side to rummage through his nightstand. “Need a hand?” I say smugly, lifting up onto one elbow to look into the drawer. (It’s an absolute mess; I don’t know how he finds anything in there.)

“Shut up,” he mutters, but I can see he’s trying not to smile.

“I swear, Snow,” I say when I let myself fall back onto the pillows, “if you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to—”

“Aha!” He triumphantly holds up the bottle of lube and a condom. (He’s got a bunch of loose ones floating around his drawer that he’d picked up from LGBTQ events at his university. Even before we’d done… anything.) (Always be prepared, I suppose.)

I grab his arm to pull him towards me, and he collapses against my chest. He ends up elbowing me in order to push himself up. It’s a good thing he’s not this clumsy in battle; his adversaries might not find it as endearing as I do.

He slots himself between my legs as I wrangle him in for another kiss, pushing my hips up into him to remind him why we’re here. He groans again, and presses me into the mattress with all his weight. I love the feel of him on top of me like this, grounding me.

“Simon, love,” I say, practically whining. I run my hands down the sides of his waist and start pushing his pants down his hips.

“Ah, right.”

After some awkward limb-tangling and hip-repositioning, our pants are off, and he holds himself above me on all fours. I reach up for his mouth with mine. I can’t not.

He smiles when he pulls away, and I bring my knees up around either side of him while he dispenses lube onto his fingers. I practically shiver at the memory of his fingers inside me—once we figured out how to make it work. How to make it good. (So good, actually.)

“Hey,” he says as he leans over me, his hand still between my legs. The slick pad of his finger is circling me, teasing me. “You ready?”

“_Yes_,” I growl. “I’ve been ready since I saw you dual-wielding with that other sword you snagged.”

“Is that so?” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He’s pressing his finger into me before I can respond.

“_Fuck_,” I say, my voice strained, as my eyes drift shut. “_Yes_.”

“You’ve been wanting this for a while, then, hmm?” He’s going agonizingly slow; I have to resist the urge to just thrust down onto his finger.

I nod, and a whimper escapes my throat.

“So you like watching me fight?” he asks, pushing in the rest of the way, all of a sudden.

The shock of it makes me gasp and arch my back. I look up at him, surprised and aroused in equal measure, and he’s scanning my entire body. His mouth is hanging open. I think he likes watching me, too.

“_Yes_,” I repeat, rather breathily.

He’s setting me on fire from the inside, with every little motion.

He leans down to kiss me one more time before sitting back on his heels, gripping the side of my hip with his free hand as he slips a second finger inside me. “I get it. I liked watching you play football.”

I want to say something clever or mocking, but he’s driving these utterly debauched noises out of me with every push of his fingers, and I couldn’t string together a coherent sentence to save my life.

“Running up and down the pitch in those shorts,” he adds, smoothing his hand over my thigh. “You looked strong and graceful as fuck.”

That almost makes me laugh. I must look a mess now, clenching the duvet in my fists as I writhe under his touch.

“You’re still graceful.” His eyes continue roaming over me, searing into me—I want to tell him he can have me. “Even when I’m making you fall apart.”

“_Simon_—” I choke out. I want him. Now.

He withdraws his fingers and gives me a look, like he’s asking permission.

“Just fuck me, you numpty,” I say, which is not the sexiest thing I could have said. It makes him laugh, though.

I like this. That I can make him laugh. I can make him laugh and he still wants to fuck me. I like him.

I mean, I love him. But I also really, really like him.

I reach up to grab him by the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss, while he’s in the middle of fumbling with the condom wrapper.

“I can’t do this if you keep distracting me,” he says, laughing against my lips as I hold his head in place.

“Then allow me,” I say with a smirk.

When I sit up, he hands me the packet—he managed to get it open, at least—and holds onto my shoulders to steady me. It takes me a moment to figure out which is the right way up, but then I kiss him again and roll it onto him. His wings, which are now fully visible, expand suddenly and surprise him. We both laugh this time.

“I forgot they did that,” he says, tucking his head down into the crook of my neck sheepishly.

“It’s a perfectly natural part of the dragon mating ritual,” I say, and he snorts. I press my face against the side of his head and whisper, “May I?”

His wings twitch. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

I hug him close with one arm and reach out with the other to brush the top edge of one of his wings. It flutters under my touch and he sucks in a breath. “Good?” I ask. He nods.

I’m gentle with him when I do this. I don’t touch his wings often—especially not when they’re like this, when he’s aroused and they’re extra sensitive—so when I do, I treat them like fragile things. They’re not, I know. He can fly with them. He can knock enemies out with them. He can put out fires with them.

His wings are strong—_powerful_—like he is. But they can be vulnerable, too. And he still lets me close. Lets me touch that vulnerable side of him.

They stretch out as I stroke them, and he whimpers, panting against my neck. I can’t know what this feels like for him, but I imagine it’s pretty good, with the way he starts babbling my name along with a string of Normal curse words. I briefly wonder if he could come from wing stimulation alone, but today’s not the day to figure that out. Today he needs to fuck me.

I stop to get the lube and spread some down his cock, working it over him to make sure it’s well covered—and maybe a couple gratuitous strokes, for good measure. Just to hear him growl my name.

“Ready?” I say, my voice gravelly from watching him with my mouth open for a while. (_Am I the mouth-breather, now?_)

“_Fuck, yes_.” He tackles me back down to the mattress with a kiss and presses himself against me, providing some much needed attention to my own aching cock.

It’s not for long, though. Soon he’s pushing my knees wider and lining himself up. Admittedly, it takes a minute to figure out the angle, with the help of a pillow under my hips. But then he’s easing himself into me—slower than he needs to, but I think he’s afraid of hurting me—and I grunt appreciatively when he bottoms out.

He looks beautiful like this. Kneeling over me, his unkempt curls spilling into his flushed face. Stunning.

“Come on, Snow,” I say, pushing some of his hair back and tugging it. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He gives a little thrust of his hips, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. “I’d rather you call me Simon,” he says, with a playful smile on his face.

“Oh yeah?” I try to sound tough, but it comes out too breathy. “Make me.”

He stares me down for a moment, looking at once delighted and annoyed and incredibly turned on, before pulling back and thrusting again, harder. I’m almost embarrassed by the sound that escapes me, but then he does it again—and again—and I don’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed anymore.

I bring my knees up higher, and the slight shift in angle makes us both moan loudly—his more deep and feral, and mine mortifyingly high-pitched. His wings keep expanding in time with his movements; it really is a magnificent sight to behold.

I love him like this. Unencumbered and free to just be whoever he wants to be. A sexually undefined dragon boy driving his vampire boyfriend to the brink of euphoria.

I want him to send me over the edge.

I hook my legs around his back—one of my feet bumps his tail, causing it to thrash for a second—and hold onto his shoulders with both hands to give me leverage as I buck my hips into him. I need more.

“Nngh—_Simon_,” I groan, digging my fingers into his shoulders. “Simon, I—I need you to—”

He takes me in his hand before I even finish begging him and I squeeze my eyes shut as he strokes me arrhythmically. He’s only good at multitasking with swords, I think, but I’m too far gone to have any complaints.

Stars fill my vision and I know I’m close—so close. I can feel my fangs itching to drop, but I can usually hold them back at times like this. Usually.

“Oh— Fuck— Simon—” I sputter, right before they drop. I know he can see them; my mouth is hanging open as I come over my stomach.

He’s babbling again as he keeps stroking me through it, though his voice is strained, and his wings are spread wide and stretched taut. I can feel his magic push to the surface of his skin, and for a second I wish he could push it into me again. He can’t do that anymore—share magic, go off—with what magic he has left, but it still tries. The tawny skin between his freckles is practically glowing.

He can’t share his magic anymore—but this is better. Magic-sharing was one-sided; he made me feel good, and I couldn’t do anything for him. But I can now.

I shift my hips again, with my last ounce of strength in my blissed out state, and I can see it in his eyes. The point of no return. Like it’s still a surprise.

He rams his hips into me repeatedly when he comes, hard. It’s too hard for me, extra sensitive after everything, but I hold him closer and mutter praise into his ear as he rides it out. I can hardly believe I’m the one who gets to make him unravel like this. It’s glorious.

He drops his head to my shoulder, panting, as he slows to a stop, and I kiss the side of his neck—after retracting my fangs. His wings fold down around us, and for the moment it feels like we’re the only two people in the world, cocooned together.

When our legs start to cramp, he collapses onto his side next to me, draping an arm over my chest.

“I did it,” he says proudly, and I side-eye him. “I made you call me Simon.”

“Of course you did,” I say with a sly smile. “You’re Simon Snow, the hero of this story. You always win.”

He looks at his hand on my chest and starts tracing swirling lines with his fingertips. “I’d like to think we both win.”

I lean over and kiss his forehead. “We did.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know about my WIPs and other random, vaguely Carry On or fanfic-related things I like to talk about, you can find me on tumblr as [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com)!


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